Musicians wrestle everywhere-
All day-among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife-
And-walking-long before the morn-
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that “New Life”!

If is not Bird-it has no nest-
Nor “Band”-in brass and scarlet-drest-
Nor Tamborin-nor Man-
It is not Hymn from pulpit read-
The “Morning Stars” the Treble led
On Time's first Afternoon!

Some-say-it is “the Spheres”-at play!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames-and Men!
Some-think it service in the place
Where we-with late-celestial face-
Please God-shall Ascertain!